Reflections: Promise to an End
by Voice of the Shadow Realm
Summary: A troubled past is hazardous to a steady future. As a new husband and father, Kenshin has a choice to make, to either run from his past or to embrace who he is and draw strength from his own mistakes in order to make peace with the final life he destroyed in his misguided youth. His own. So, perhaps this is more how fans wished the Reflections OVA to truly play out.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

Just a tentative toe dip into the fanfiction world of Rurouni Kenshin for you guys to enjoy. After watching the OVA: Reflections, where we are retold the story of Kenshin in a more dreary light and introduced to Kenshin and Kaoru's son Kenji, I felt a little fluff without point or direction was needed. I am aware that many fans find the OVA depressing and most are unhappy with it, I personally find it extremely enjoyable- it tugs in the right places and the art work is astounding- one must remember while watching it that it is no more canon than fanfiction and should not been considered as though it is. The only thing that truly confused me was the strenuous relationship between Kenshin and Kenji, where in the anime (I'm still working through the manga) Kenshin is very devoted to his friends and eventual wife; he also has a very close bond with Yahiko and the two granddaughters of the doctor, taking both the fatherly and brotherly route with each. I personally feel that when presented with his own flesh and blood, Kenshin would make an astounding father, so I tend to find that Kenji's bitterness unfounded, and his father's need to wander odd, especially as Kenshin states several times in the anime that he is tired of wandering. So, with that in mind, perhaps this is more how fans wished the Reflections OVA to truly play out.

**Disclaimer: **Despite wishing that any and all anime/manga/book/ect characters that I love were mine, it does not make it so. That being said, Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X is not the brain child of myself, the story I have written here however, is.

**Reflections: Promise to an End.**

_**It was ending now and the sounds of frightened citizens who had hurriedly fled inside could once again be heard, somewhere along the row an infant wailed. The vicious cries of fighters had softened to the mournful sounds of the wounded and dying, once thick and stifling and palpable as mist rain, now barely ghosted over the churned earth and crumbling walls of the poor homes that lined the unlikeliest of battlefield. Several ruined corpses that once housed the spirits of proud men, warriors, samurai, lay scattered in the streets not unlike meat destined for the butcher's board. The chilling clash of steel on steel no longer swallowed the roar of thunder and the flash of lightening only caught upon the handful of blades still flying, wielded on by hands strong only with the will of living or the fear of death.**_

_**One such blade swung down, biting through soft and yielding flesh of the throat easily even as its wielders waraji clad feet slithered further apart, betrayed by the loose mud birthed by looser soil and rain, insisting upon disrupting his balance.**_

_**The man, the wounded-now-dying man, crumpled even before the steel had completed its carving. Life blood pumped and pulsed over fingers that struggled to clamp parted flesh together, their strength fleeting with every drop of the precious fluid lost. But even as his life ran free and his knees buckled beneath him, the defeated warrior swung one last defiant scowl at his murderer; his hazing sight filled with the gleam of predatory gold, and his voice gurgled, his final insult thick and wet upon his tongue. "Demon whelp…" And then the fire of life in his eyes dampened and the strength left in the body was gone, lost into the crimson stained mud around him.**_

_**The victorious swordsman simply turned away from the corpse without seeing it and fluidly sheathed his blade. He felt no elation in killing another, no satisfaction and no completion. And yet, he felt no remorse either, he simply acted as he had been trained since he was a boy. If he were to be honest, if he were to attach a name to what he felt as his sword robbed others of life, he would name it as monotonous. Slaying his fellow man, be he warrior or of political standing, had become routine and that revelation unsettled him. Every flame of life that he extinguished drew a little of his own fire from him, leaving him more hollow and more broken than even the lifeless vessels that sank deeper into the mud. **_

_**The battles, the risks, the knowledge that if he were to falter in his attack or react a second too slowly it would be he who lay there feeding the earth his life blood instead of the other man had once frightened him. Now he found himself envious of the corpses that he created. There was a peace to be found in death, a limit to the numbing feeling in ones chest. It was scarcely beyond the point where the mind surrendered all emotion, moments before the body relinquished its strength to death, where a calming sense of serenity would dominate hopelessness. And it was a luxury that was cruelly deprived of the victor to be instead selfishly lavished upon the dying. Every man he slue, became a new face that haunted his dreams. Every dying voice still echoed in his ears, causing him to question his actions and the orders of his commander. Though his apprehensions were never addressed and his questions were stomped down, remaining unanswered as his orders still found him, he had never once thought to refuse the chaste instructions. Instead, because of his youth and naivety, he blindly trusted that the men he allowed to aim his blade to be honorable in their intent as each new target was continuously delivered to him, bound within an envelope as dark as this path he had found himself upon. **_

_**War was a tricky beast to define beyond its baser nature, drawing a fine line between justice and simple greed. And politics served only to further confuse the actions of the just and greedy to the eyes of the common citizen. While the poetic words of one man's dreams and ideals would appeal to the hearts of some, flattering a poor man's pride enough for him to take up his sword in the name of all that was just and fair, those very same words could also stir the fury in others, leading them to destroy those whose ideals threatened their already established and stable existence. As long as there is unbalance, inequality and vulnerability, war will always thrive. Flaws such as these do not sit well in either the heart of a man or the creation of a new government. **_

_**He had failed in hiding his own vulnerabilities, a child with his own simple sense of honor is easy to manipulate. And so, to protect the delicate balance of his young mind as he stalked and ambushed and killed, he learned to sever his emotions from his actions. Trust is quickly given to he who flatters a young man's talents and feigns interest in his ideals. A kind word, a shared goal and then, no matter how vague the connection between the commander and the boy, the young warrior is ready to blindly believe that his slayings are just and his victims were deserving of their fate. And in doing so, he had lost his tenuous grasp on his humanity, reverting him to a hellish beast that preyed upon the meat of men. He had become the hushed curse that hid amongst noble soldiers country-wide. The whispered rumors amongst veteran warriors and the slurred gossip of drunkards.**_

_**His shoulders sagged with an exhale even as his fingers tightened their grip around the worn leather wrapping of the hilt. He would allow them the luxury of their ignorance. He had long since decided that the truth was far more terrifying than any fairy-tale superstitious minds could produce. **_

"_**There you are," The sound of stealthy feet slapping on mud had reached his ears long before the rasping words of an exhausted man. "The demon of the Imperial army. Turn and face your final opponent. Here your legend en…" A boorish sound interrupted the taunt as he ignored the instruction to turn. He'd grown accustomed to the derisive snorts of the larger swordsmen. He understood that his small, slender form did not project the desired sense of awe and intimidation men had imagined him to possess, nor did his age. The fictions weaved of him in the light of the campfires were simply that, fiction. He understood that he lacked the air of threat at first glance, but it was also to his understanding that in battle, the first warrior to fall is he who underestimates his opponent. **_

_**Such as the brute, his latest targets final bodyguard, snickering before him did so now. With hard biceps as thick as his own waist and meaty fingers clutching the leather wrapped hilt of his blade, this man was a beast in the truest sense, and far more so than he, deserved the reputaion of the Battousai. A mindless animal bred for war even down to the widened eyes and nostrils that flared with every horsey breath that thundered about the younger swordsman's ears. Even the voice that sneered at him now was that of a simpleton who placed all of his faith in assumptions and half-truths. "You, are no demon warrior, boy." Exhaustion was evident, his tongue slurred the words but yet his body still held taunt as though he were fresh to battle. **_

_**Gentle, lavender eyes threaded with gold flickered over a slight shoulder, interest piqued.**_

"_**Go home boy! I want to fight the Imperialist's rabid mongrel, not a child playing war. I want the man-slayer!"**_

_**Slowly he turned, chin lifting and a quiet confirmation. "I am he."**_

_**A snort, then a rumbling as the brutish man hawked and spat pink tinged phlegm from the corner of his mouth, his flat and dull eyes never shifted, never left those of the smaller swordsman. Then he barked a single dry laugh. "Gutsy little shit aren't you?" When the youth offered him no response his eyes narrowed and the momentary humor drained from his face. "You're little more than a graduate swordsman. A little boy scarcely weaned off his mother's nipple." He tapped the flat of his katana against his meaty calf, considering the young swordsman standing before him. His gaze flickered briefly to the corpse at their feet. He had watched this slip of a boy gut his employer and slit the other swordsmen without so much as flinching where even he had turned away from the sticky rush of blood and entrails flood from the gaping wounds. Despite what he thought, this boy was interesting…**_

…_**And deadly.**_

_**Without even a warning twitch, the smaller samurai was moving, zigzagging toward the larger man, hand on his sheath and the other crossing his body to grasp his katana's hilt. There was no time for thought to process, no time for instincts to insist he dodge, the only warning given of the lightning fast attack, of the motions executed, that mercilessly ended the brutes life was a flash of lavender bleeding with gold, and liquid silver of slashing steel that was quickly stained crimson.**_

* * *

Kenshin's body had hurled him from the nest of blankets that had shielded him from the crisp bite of the early winter air with the sounds of battle still ringing in his ears. Weight balanced evenly on the balls of his feet and shoulders curled over taunt legs in a defensive squat and, before the heavy pull of sleep had even fully left his drowsy mind, his hand instinctively groped for the katana- now sakabatou- that was strangely absent from his hip. Sleep gave way to concern, as he circled on the spot further tangling himself in his sleepwear and bedding, his warrior's senses reaching for confirmation that he was indeed away from danger, and then confusion as the former assassins vision sharpened and scanned his surroundings, searching for the enemies that he was so sure lurked in the darkness of unfamiliar territory.

His brow creased and he shuffled awkwardly through his thoughts, separating dream from reality, recalling the now diminishing sounds of battle and shunting them aside, back into the depths of his past where they belonged, as they were replaced with the now familiar sounds of the Kamiya home, his home, and the sense of comfort that was carried with them. The overwhelming sensation of panic that had his heart hammering and his throat dry only fully relinquished as his sight fell upon not the split corpse of his latest victim at his side, but the gentle curves of Kaoru as she slept on peacefully, her chest rising and falling in soft and steady breaths of one whose heart beat strongly deep within her breast.

The relief that flooded Kenshin's senses as he dropped back down with a sigh was cleansing, it had been some time since he had endure a dream so vividly and needed such lengths to bring him confirmation that he was no longer fighting in Kyoto. The fact that he had needed such reassurance that he had only been caught up in a dream, a grim reminder of his previous bloody life as the Battousai of the revolution, startled and repulsed him. He was no longer the youth that his treacherous mind had shown him, that all seemed so very long ago now. Or, at least, it would if not for the fact that people found it so very difficult to forget his past where as he, the man who had lived it, was more than happy to tramp down it down and begin living anew. Taking only a moment to shove a hand through his thick, knotted bangs, dampened with sweat despite the season, and recompose himself as his lips quirked upwards and he leaned over Kaoru's, now his wife, sleeping form.

His fingers tucking a fly away strand of hair that had tangled with her eyelashes safely behind her ear before ghosting over her clothed shoulder. The barely there touch followed the firm line of toned muscle and strong bones of a sword wielders dominant arm, yet it was carefully encased within the softness of female flesh. Had it only been almost three years since he had been confronted with this woman? Three years almost since he had felt the first tug of belonging to just one place instead of wandering as he saw fit. She had been a girl at the time of their meeting, a strong, vibrant and somewhat reckless girl, with little patience for anything that she deemed as unimportant. He felt the quirk on his lips stretch into a soft smile as he recalled her swinging at him with her little bamboo sword without fear or hesitation within moments of gaining his attention. She had, without doubt, spotted his katana at his hip and charged him, claiming him to be the Battousai and a murderer despite not knowing his personality or how close to the truth she really was.

'_Reckless girl, that you are.' _He chided softly in his mind as his lashes slipped partway over his gaze and he shifted closer, fitting his form against the contours of Kaoru's back easily.

Kaoru sighed at the increase of warmth pressed to her chilled skin, snuggling further back as Kenshin's fingers skimmed along her arms and finally settling around hers as he supported and cradled her arms inside his own. He pressed his nose into the thick ebony gloss, twisted into a neat braid, and inhaled, breathing in her scent and finally grounding himself fully in reality, her essence fully chasing away his thoughts of hopelessness that had lingered since his awakening. Closing his eyes, Kenshin felt the seductive touch of sleep brush his consciousness, though he resisted, content to continue basking in the warm glow of belonging, he must have slipped into a semi-doze because as he lifted his head at the sound of a single soft complaint emitted from within his protective clasp, he felt the sudden rush of awareness swirl through his mind.

He blinked, gaze immediately falling onto his wife, checking that she was still nestled in blissful slumber and blinked again as he confirmed this. Carefully he lowered his head again, waited a moment with a held breath as the soft sound rose once more, this time he felt a shifting movement against his hold. He moved carefully, shifting his hip back and tilting his form enough to tuck an elbow under himself without releasing his hold on his sleeping wife. Propping himself high enough to peer curiously along his arms that edged hers to where, nestled safely within their entwined limbs, lay a small child -their child- fidgeting and shifting with the first throes of distress.

His heart clenched. This was his life now, a new and bloodless path for him to wander as a husband and father.

Kenshin considered the child carefully as his little mouth pulled down and his little face crinkled, the next sound that came was a single cry of a baby whose initial snuffling and whimpers had not gained him his desired result. Kenshin's mind suddenly caught on the cry, on the whimpers that filled the silence between one wail and the next. These were the sounds that he had heard in his dream. The single wail and the soft whimpers of the dying, these were innocent sounds his son had made and his own guilt had twisted them into something far more morbid.

He cringed internally, even as he reached his hand down to his son, a babe and the embodiment of new and pure innocent life which he had slain for. He suddenly felt unworthy to tarnish such a creature, as though his flesh was still stained with the blood of his victims. He rubbed his fingers over his thumb hesitantly, considering carefully his next move, until the boy opened his mouth and uttered the first true warning cry of an impending tantrum. "It's alright now, that it is." He crooned softly to the child, his touch moving to the soft, round cheek of the squirming child before lowering to the tiny, fragile body and sweeping in long and smooth strokes. "It is still very early and time for you to be sleeping." As if to emphasize that point, Kenshin found himself hiding a yawn behind Kaoru's shoulder.

"Then you should be sleeping as well."

Fatigue dark lavender met sleep bright blue as Kaoru shifted over carefully until she lay on her back with the still fussing Kenji making indignant sounds against her chest. She offered her husband a soft, exhausted smile in exchange to his bewildered expression. "I mean it Kenshin; you barely sleep at the best of times. You stay and get some rest and I'll take Kenji outside and see if I can't get him to settle."

Kenshin smiled, her exhaustion was as evident as his own and yet Kaoru's first intention was his own comfort. He lowered is head to press his brow to his wife's, touched once again by the unending love this young woman held for a lowly vagabond such as himself. "He is not asking to nurse. And after the dreams tonight, it is doubtful that I would find sleep again so easily." The former warrior-come-wanderer pushed himself to his feet, tightening his winter sleeping yukata before moving to the other side of his wife and squatting down again, pleased to see her lashes already fluttering closed, effortlessly winning the battle of dominance between her will and need. "It does not make sense for the both of us to be exhausted. You should sleep a little longer, that you should." He gathered the small child into his arms and put him to his chest before reaching down and tugging the blankets a little higher for Kaoru, smiling softly to himself as he saw that she was already asleep once more.

While Kenshin would have felt content to watch his wife a few moments longer, Kenji's cries were growing louder, more heated and demanding, if they lingered much longer Kaoru's sleep would be disrupted again and this time she would refuse any new attempt to allow her to rest more. Straightening himself, Kenshin maneuvered his child into folds at the neck of his yukata to protect his young body from the chill of the air and then lay a gentle hand over his son's head, a wordless attempt to quieten the growing cries and padded silently from the room.

* * *

_**And so, it begins.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

Just a tentative toe dip into the fanfiction world of Rurouni Kenshin for you guys to enjoy. After watching the OVA: Reflections, where we are retold the story of Kenshin in a more dreary light and introduced to Kenshin and Kaoru's son Kenji, an event that I felt was very under-developed and lost so much of its impact because of the bleakness of the story that it was threaded into. And while I did enjoy the story I, along with countless other fans who rooted for Kaoru and Kenshin's happily ever after, felt cheated by the huge missing chunks of history for the little family and when I first tackled this story it was simply to alter a few of the more depressing scenes a little more to my tastes.

At least, that was the situation when I first considered writing this story, as it was based very much as a re-write story I realized that it has been seen oh so many times before on this site. Now the general concept of this idea has waned and has been stripped down to the underlying focus, without so many of the pitying aspects to overpower the story I want to tell; which would have been lost if I had decided to stick faithfully to the events in the OVA. And because of this, I would like to advise that this is going to be a longer, slower burn story that will still focus on the be separated into segments of time and should, as such, be taken as a story arc rather than a short novel.

I warn you now that this chapter is very word heavy with very little in the way of spoken dialogue and it bounces back and forth between the recent past and the immediate present.

Disclaimer: I make no claims to own any characters that I write/draw/paint/plush, I simply take advantage of fair use/artistic license and fan parody acts. All characters here are property of their designated creator/copyrighted owners.

**Reflections: Promise to an End.**

Chapter:2.

Father and son moved silently through the darkened halls of the Kamiya dojo. The father, silently thankful for the stealth he had gained in his time as the Battousai, despite the animosity he felt twisting sourly within his gut as he recalled the tasks he'd previously applied it to. The unique lightness of foot had been his greatest asset in that dark chapter of his youth, a skill that he had deployed only to the stalking and slaying a target and the skulking through the depth of shadow unseen by unfriendly eyes. He had, at one time, been so proud of the skill that had so often saved his life from needless confrontation with his target and then, as he matured and the reality of his savagery began to weigh heavily on his spirit, he deemed it as little more than a curse that it had proven so effective in preventing his being slain by those who had hunted him. But now Kenshin found himself wryly amused at how it was in the creeping away from an exhausted new mother -so that she may be granted a few extra hours of rest- where it truly seemed to come as a blessing.

No sounds reached him as he padded through the stillness of the deep night, patrolling the halls blanketed in silence, wary for any unwelcome presences. The Kamiya family home had rarely been as quiet over the previous three years as it was now and, for some reason, that silence carried with it a heavy sense of foreboding as its companion.

With the Meiji Era slowly stabilizing and the strained relations between Japan's people waning, Kenshin gratefully welcomed his shift in responsibility, moving his duties of protection far from the bloody expectations of the swordsman that he had once been and more to the respectable role of husband and father. No longer was he hunted by those who harboured thoughts of revenge, although he was painfully aware that there would always be jilted men who spat his name as a curse. As it was, his life was now one of peace, undisturbed by the lingering specters of war aside from the occasional terror that ambushed his dreams, and Kenshin was slowly, finally building the life that he had always believed himself undeserving of since his hand had strayed to the sword. In the rediscovering of the pleasures that were to be had in a simpler existence, the old soldier finally felt as though his soul was healing.

He now surrounded himself with friends whom he trusted, finally free of the solitary creature that he had once been. It had been a circumstance forced of his role as a shadowed assassin that the faces he had known were restricted to those of the men with whom he served with, his clan master and his assigned target. He had a wife whom he had chosen rather than had appointed him out of necessity for his survival. He snorted at his flare of male insistence that he had wooed her despite knowing fully that it was Kaoru who had chosen and pursued him through the years. He'd felt awkward at first, because of her youth. Kaoru had been a girl when they had met, barely seventeen and, to him, it felt as though the years between them spanned greater than an entire lifetime. How could he justify his fondness for her as anything more than that of an elder brother's for his sister?

But Kaoru had been persistent and adamant to be seen as a wife in his eyes, and the warm infant who squirmed defiantly in his arms and bore his image proved that she had ultimately been successful.

Although the number of his family had increased, his group of friends had first dwindled as one individual had taken to wandering for their own reason. A touch of loneliness pressed at the back of Kenshin's mind with that particular truth, he knew it to be the absence of Sanosuke that gave the hollow weight to the peace.

He had been angry at first, the man's decision to leave coming at the same time as his to stay had hurt. And, although he knew that he of all people should have been more understanding in the decision the former street fighter had made, Kenshin could not prevent the bitterness that still tightened his chest and slowed his feet when he considered the course of events that lead to this turnabout. It was a blend of both grief and frustration that stirred in him when he recalled exactly why it was that his friend had taken it upon himself to remove his whirlwind of a presence from his life.

To protect them, his companions who he felt were closer to him than kin, from troubles that were not theirs to bear.

There was no hardship that Sanosuke would not face if it meant securing their safety. It was a misguidance that Kenshin himself was guilty of many times over. And if the former wanderer were honest about it all it would not be that he couldn't understand the reasons that had convinced Sano of his leaving that irked him so but rather it was the bitter taste it left in his mouth, the unfairness that seemed to demand that one of their fold would always be forced to leave so that the others remained untroubled. Also, and this was a truth that Kenshin would forever hold close to his chest, the realization that Sanosuke was proving himself more prudent in his elusiveness than the rurouni had stung his pride and, with each season that passed, Sano was continuing to prove this skill over his by ensuring he remain scarce.

Kenshin sighed quietly, his breath ruffling the darker copper that sprouted in uneven lengths upon his son's head as the child snuggled under his chin, tiny fist grasping the ends of the tumbling ember locks that tickled against his cheek and eyelids drooping.

It was a selfish action yes, and one that was not properly considered, but he supposed, that was simply Sano's way. If the former fighter-for-hire possessed any amount of self-restraint, which it was painfully obvious that he didn't, then he highly doubted that the lanky youth would have forced his way into their lives as he had; with fists flying and social etiquette damned to the deepest pit of hell alongside anything else that may have hindered him from a good brawl.

Kenshin tilted his head, trying unsuccessfully to carefully untangle his hair from the drowsy boys grasp as he recalled watching as Sano bid them farewell at the harbour. How his lips had offered his usual -if somewhat forced- placated curve as he had hung back behind the trio. With his chin tilted low so that his shaggy red bangs tumbled shadow over his eyes he watched in silence as Kaoru and Yahiko offered their friend fond farewells mixed with gentle barbs of teasing while catching the snorted retorts and restrained snipes before Sanosuke swept Yahiko into a brotherly headlock.

All through the rough displays of affection that these youths shared, a confusing swirl of emotion had darkened Kenshin's violet orbs beneath his half lidded gaze and a sharp pang of guilt tightened his throat. He carefully took notice tears that glistened behind Kaoru's smiles, of the less subtle banter of the Yahiko who was too young to effectively hide his hurt. But it was the worry that had dampened the insatiable fire in the fist fighter's eyes and the discomfort that lessened the usual cocky grin upon his lips as Sanosuke set Yahiko down and stood that had caught the rurouni's interest more. His eyes narrowing briefly as he watched the broad hand swiping down one last time at the boy's unruly hair before warm brown shifted to meet the analytical gaze of the shorter man still hanging back, lips twitching as he realized that the swordsman was carefully keeping his distance, his posture radiating the wary caution of a beaten dog not quite sure if it trusted a looming hand.

Taking a careful step forward and allowing his arms to slide from their limp swing at his sides to instead stuff his hands in his pockets, Sanosuke bit the side of his cheek in irritation as he saw Kenshin's spine stiffen at his slouching gait toward him. The younger man paused, snorting crudely at his friend's hesitation before he turned his head and spat the fish bone that he'd been chewing since lunch. When he met the violet gaze this time, Sano grinned.

In that grin he could hear the silent words that had been smouldering in the brown depths of his eyes ever since they had stepped onto the docks. "_This is not forever; I promise that I will return, so look after them well and don't you go wandering off, Kenshin."_

It was in that moment something that had slid into place at the back of Kenshin's mind with a click and the short swordsman felt that he could have thrown back his head and laughed at the irony of it all. In his quiet brooding, Kenshin had forgotten that Sanosuke was, much like himself, a child soldier of the revolution. The war had aged them before their time, while they were experienced fighters they were both still very young when it came to more domestic experiences. Kenshin could see now that despite all of his swaggering and bluster, the roguish smarm and boasting, Sanosuke's behaviour was little more than that of a boy preparing to leave his home as a man. While he had long since left the row house, he was finding it much more difficult to sever his ties to the dojo, terrified to take that first step away from his true home.

The vacant curve of Kenshin's mouth deepened and softened the tense line of his jaw and he moved fluidly toward the younger man who's own eye had lit up as his steps quickened. Each disentangled a hand from either sleeve or pocket and reached for the open palm that was moving toward him, clapping harshly against the rough flesh and wrapping his slender fingers around the other as Kenshin's gaze burned with a silent promise of his own.

"_I shall, my friend. And I will still be here, waiting for you to return, that I will."_

Palms sliding from each other and with a final mock salute and a grin full of familiar smarm, Sanosuke Sagara, one of the few survivors of the Sekihōtai, was gone.

Change had never been well received in Kenshin's past, it made him uneasy and jittery, so he had found it surprising that quietly sifting through his memories could help make him feel more grounded and settled.

Kenji wriggled again, curling lower into his father's chest and deeper into the thick folds of his yukata, his little fistful of hair tugging sharply at Kenshin's scalp and breaking him from his thoughts. His left brow furrowed at the sting and he lifted his hand to softly pat against his son's back as he mimicked the soothing shushing sounds that Kaoru would make to placate Kenji's temper tantrums, but the babe simply scrambled higher, his soft cheek pressing into collar and shoulder but not finding comfort. With a high mewl of displeasure the child rocked backwards against the hand that supported him, lifting onto his knees before wobbling and dropping heavily back down and successfully managed to catch his father in the throat.

Kenshin coughed sharply, the impact of his son's forehead to his trachea caught him off-guard and, after a moment or two of spluttering, he lowered his arms to settle the infant more on his belly than chest, wincing as the last few stands of his flaming mane still twisted around Kenji's fingers came out at the root.

His gaze swept down to the fidgeting boy, lids falling half over his eyes as he murmured softly. "This one is sorry, Ji-kun. You wish for me to keep walking, that you do."

As he returned to wandering the darkened halls and checked that the thicker outer wall panels were secure against the cruel chill of the winter winds -a habit he had developed over his years of residency- Kenshin found himself pausing outside the second private room of the historical home and his mind shifting back to when the occupant of said room had first joined the Kamiya household.

Yahiko was the last of the Myojin line, a samurai family loyal to the Shogun, and a confident little orphan boy who had introduced himself by fiercely slamming into Kenshin, shoving him and deftly liberating his meagre wallet only to hurl it back in the scarred swordsman's face with a sneer when caught. He had felt that the kindness the exotic samurai displayed as a bitter insult and mocking of his pride.

Knowing only a life of brutality and dishonesty Yahiko had bristled at the gentle smiles and snarled at the flattering words, despite how much his warrior's spirit wished for such praise. The boy felt his temper escalate with every pacifying gesture and soft spoken apology and yet Yahiko's ego contradicted his indignation and suspicion, it simpered and wriggled like a happy puppy, desperate for approval despite the sharp arrogance that laced his retorts and insults.

A fond smile touched Kenshin's lips.

No matter how that child had tried to disguise his mistrust, nothing escaped the scrutiny of Kenshin's trained eye. The keen intelligence that smouldered in the boys sharp glare, coupled with that fiery pride had made it difficult to ignore the ragged street boy and his plight. Both he and Kaoru had seen the honourable spirit that dwelled within that small frame, one that refused to be cowed by circumstance and allowed none of the tragedies that the young boy had faced to tarnish. He had fiercely defended Kaoru from the Yakuza that had claimed him when she had sought his release; bravely standing his ground, unarmed and desperately outnumbered against men who carried the sword that he wished for so passionately.

Now he flourished, freed from the Yakuza's hold by Kenshin and under Kaoru's firm tutorage in the Kamiya style, Yahiko was growing up to be talented in his swordsmanship.

But while Yahiko was growing older, relying less upon his guardian's protections and taking more responsibility for himself, it was becoming painfully clear that the boys maturity was solely in his swordsmanship. Yahiko's temper had always been rather short, a truth even more profound now with the onset of puberty and, coupled with that, was his adolescent pride and duty to his heritage.

It was strange that a last name could wield such power over one's personality; Kenshin himself still didn't understand it fully. Himura was simply a name, his alias that was to keep him safe as he slaughtered in the chaos of the revolution, one that he had been given by his Lord, just as Master Hiko had stripped him of his boyhood name of Shinta when the mountain of a man had 'rescued' the miserable scrap of a child. Neither one had been his, neither was the true name given to him by his father at his birth, nor was the round-about 'respect' that they brought him truly his entitlement. Instead, to him, they were little more than shackles that forever chained him to the person whom violence had groomed him into.

But the youth had always carried his name as proudly as a man should, a burden far too heavy to carry on his boy shoulders for as long as he had. It was a burden which he, as a child, was sorely unprepared for after his parent's deaths and, as the last male heir to the Myojin line, one far too easily exploited for he was bound by duty to defend the honour of his family. And Yahiko was far too easily baited. He rushed blindly into confrontations where experience warned men to lessen haste and consider a more peaceful direction. He was bind to all but the rage of unsettled hormones and deafened with the roars of pride.

Ego urged many young men to forgo wisdom with its dark whispers, reducing them down to beasts of physical reactions, which in turn led to painful beatings. Yahiko, as a fair skilled swordsman, could not allow himself to continually be drawn into street brawls. Kaoru had grown increasingly distressed each time that her student had limped through the gate, battered and bruised and clothing in tatters, launching into her tirade that her school taught a technique that was the discipline of prevention and protection, and as such should not be used simply because he could. That she would not teach him her family's style simply so he could terrorize the streets as another bully boy.

This had sprung up an argument between master and apprentice in which Yahiko had declared the Kamiya style as childish, in which Kaoru's response was to promptly withdraw her lessons. Kenshin had, in an attempt to placate both his wife and his charge, been forced to take a more active role in Yahiko's lessons as a sparring partner. At first Yahiko had been delighted, believing that he was finally going to be taught the Mitsurugi technique, but his delight had quickly passed into despair as he realized that Kenshin's lessons were even more difficult and exhausting than Kaoru's. This realization had the boy sheepishly apologizing in the middle of breakfast and politely requesting that Kaoru continue teaching him, scowling darkly at the red-head peeking at the exchange over the rim of miso bowl, one side of his mouth curled in barely restrained mirth.

Ensuring that Kenji was securely tucked into the crook of his arm beneath his yukata's folds, the former rurouni raised his palm to the wooden slats of the shoji and, for a reason that escaped even him, carefully parted the panels enough to peer through.

The unfolded futon and tangle of blankets piled atop of the now almost teen were suddenly illuminated by a helpful shaft of moonlight, the crisp white of the sheets glowing faintly in the surrounding shadows. Yahiko's foot peeked from beneath the warm cocoon and twitched occasionally, almost as though it was tapping a beat to the snuffling snores that were slightly muffled by the blankets tugged over his head in an attempt to keep the tops of his ears warmed against the biting chill.

Shifting the door back to its proper place, Kenshin felt his shoulders sag in a fleeting moment of relief. Yahiko was known to spend time away from the dojo during the day, his shared it evenly between his training and picking up odd jobs as a kitchen hand and errand boy at the Akabeko after he had decided that he was old enough now to contribute coins to the household. He hid the desire to do so under snarky comments about keeping Kaoru out of the kitchen, despite it being common knowledge that it was one part that he wanted to show his appreciation for the years of boarding and kendo training the young woman had given him and another part spending time with Tsubame. But he always returned before the gate was locked for the night, he didn't like Kaoru worrying.

Eyelids growing heavier and his head ducking to bury a yawn into his shoulder, Kenshin reluctantly pressed on instead of returning to his own futon. He had begun a patrol of the home and his old assassin instincts refused to allow him to abandon his wandering half complete regardless of exhaustion.

Silent feet paused next at a familiar hallway and Kenshin glanced fondly at the shoji door guarding the sanctuary of the room that was once granted to him. Now the room was merely a humble guest room and one that had most recently been occupied by Megumi for several months. Kenshin thoughtlessly pressed his lips to the crown of his son, murmuring nonsense sounds to soothe the squirming that his sudden impulse had caused in his arms as he found his mind shifting back to why the lady doctor resided within the Kamiya home. The reason slowly settled in his father's gentle hold, tiny fingers flaring before curling into soft little fists that a toothless mouth quickly found and suckled noisily upon.

Kenji's birth had been a difficult turning point for Kenshin. Unprepared and ill informed as to what was required of him, he had floundered and panicked like a witless youth at the first signs of Kaoru's impending labour. From what his hazy memories could recall, he had been the youngest of three sons and had been too young for his father to even consider taking to work the fields let alone teach him how to handle a wife in labour. Kenshin could count on a single hand just how many times that he had felt truly helpless; this however, was by far the most terrifying instance for him, far outstripping that dark night that he had begun to travel his blood-spattered path.

All he knew was that childbirth was, by tradition, a woman's affair and that Kaoru had no living female relatives.

Though this had never truly bothered her before her falling pregnant and thusly had not been a concern for him either, now suddenly it brought forth a formerly unnecessary yet very important concern for him to consider. Kaoru was very quickly, in his opinion, moving through her stages of labour and without the guidance of her mother to assist her throughout her imminent birthing and the first few months after, her reliance would fall to her husband, a husband who, without his sword in hand and a tangible enemy to fend off, was currently bent over his knees, hyperventilating as he fought desperately not to faint.

Traditionally, as a man, Kenshin should not even be in the same room as his wife at this very moment. The only male presence that culture deemed acceptable to have involved in the labour would be doctor Gensai, and even that involvement would be restricted to simply an over-seer to ensure both Kaoru and the child lived through the trauma.

Kaoru had smiled softly, curling her fingers around his wrists as he turned wide and frightened eyes to her, coaxing his hands from where they were knuckle-deep in his burnt copper strands, reassuring him that she would be fine despite the mist of pain that glazed her eyes and tried to usher him from her side. But Kenshin simply could not walk out of that room. He had tried, pressing his lips to her brow and then striding intently toward the door, only to find that each time he tried his legs stopped him halfway across the tatami mats and his shoulders would turn him enough to watch Kaoru who paced briskly about the room, pausing only as she whistled a noisy breath through her nose while another contraction pained her. Eyes clenched and jaw set as she waited in silence for the spasms to pass before she continued her circuit. It was only when she could no longer fight the increasing pains that her gaze searched and her gentle voice whimpered that Kenshin found himself back at her side to assist her to the floor.

It was also then that the former warrior openly panicked, his eyes darting anxiously from the door that Yahiko had fled through with instructions to fetch the doctor to those adoring blue depths which lavished him with so much love that he knew he did not deserve. Even that moment, while she suffered and Kenshin worried at his bottom lip, she had brushed her nose against his jaw and whispered soothing words to him; desperately trying to silence the swirling voices that she knew eddied about his mind, scolding him for putting her into this situation. Kaoru's lashes fluttered and she hoped that her shaking voice and her gentle praises for his help broke through to him, and while he supported her as best he knew, the labour began to quicken its pace.

His heart was in his throat as he eased his wife into a squat, and his fingers had shook as they fumbled with ties and knots that he had so often unfastened with ease. Kaoru's own hands had crept higher and latched about his neck, her face pressed to the hollow in his collar as her ragged breathing blasted his sweating skin in sharp pants. Letting the yukata hang open, folding around the heavy swell of her belly, Kenshin simply held her and murmured soft encouragement to her even though his heart thrummed with panic and his throat tightened in despair.

He had no idea how to birth a child and by the trembling he could feel shudder through her small body with every contraction that he could see rippling her belly; it was beginning to seem more and more likely that was precisely what he would have to try.

And then she was there, in all of her sultry glory. Megumi's face hovered beside his, murmuring comforting words in his ear while her fingers were combing through Kaoru's sweat soaked bangs in an almost maternal way as she carefully examined the girl. Kenshin had practically sobbed in relief as Megumi lifted her eyes to meet his, her lips curving into a gentle smile as she softly spoke the words that he knew Kaoru needed to hear so desperately.

"_She is progressing admirably. Now, I need you to set up a room for me Kenshin, Yahiko has my bags."_

And then Kaoru had shifted her arms from around her husband's neck, releasing the terrified man who fled the room at last and transferring her hold to Megumi as her voice trembled.

"_T-thank you, Megumi."_

Kenshin sighed. He owed Megumi so much more than his thanks. The woman had taken such care of Kaoru during the first several months of motherhood, making sure that she rested enough and ate plenty. And she had also taken such delight in teaching Kenshin his own role and duties as the child's father, showing him how to best hold and bathe the squalling infant and how to change and twist the swaddling sheet securely without pinching delicate pink skin. Oh, how the lady doctor had laughed at him, discreetly of course, behind her hand, as he nervously tied a clean sheet too loosely and tucked the child into the linen sling folded within his gi only to find, a half hour later, that the child had wet through not only the loose sheet but the sling and his own clothing as well.

Kenshin's eyes swam with emotion and fatigue as he carefully pushed the shoji door open just wide enough to slip inside. Leaving the door open, he carefully lowered himself to sit with his back pressed against the spare futons and pile of warm sheets, adjusting his position until he was comfortable and checked that Kenji was still sleeping soundly. Leaning his head back and eyes finally closing, Kenshin's lips tweaked into a contented line. Everyone was here and everything was alright and now, perhaps he could get some sleep.

* * *

Kaoru tugged the blanket she had wrapped herself in more tightly around her shoulders. Her bare feet ghosting the cold wooden floors of her family home, glancing from room to room for her husband and son and feeling more refreshed than she could remember in the last few months since the birth of her son. She had slept longer than she had intended, reluctant to relinquish the hold she had on sleep as much as it had its hold on her, only waking as the sunlight tickled through her lashes, the brightness of the late hour finally forcing her to stir.

Lashes fluttering down guiltily as Kaoru smiled meekly to herself, she had left her husband at their son's mercy for far too long. Kenshin would have tried. He always tried. But Kenji was far more temperamental for his father than he ever was for her. And now, after the fullest night of rest she could remember, she was realizing what had her thoroughly exhausted was of her own doing. That in her desperation to have her child settle she had unintentionally caused a situation in which Kenshin was incapable of assisting her as he would have liked. Kenji had always been difficult to settle at night, she had tried warm baths and lullabies, without success. Finally, Kaoru had found her solution in her desperation, Kenji was content to nurse until he'd fallen asleep and, despite the tenderness of breast and dependency upon her that had resulted of it, her tearful exhaustion allowed it. She sighed softly, imagining the stark exhaustion that would no doubt be darkening Kenshin's face as he'd turn up those wide, apologetic eyes and sheepishly hand the still whimpering child back to her.

So when she spotted the flash of red gold as bright winter sunlight dancing upon Kenshin's copper head glinting from inside the guest room –his old room- Kaoru felt it perfectly within her right to stop her travels as abruptly as she did. The sun was glowing directly through the thin rice paper walls, warming the room against the past nights chill and throwing protective shadows over the figure tucked between the wooden structure of the wall and the pile blankets.

It had been a long time since she had seen her husband fall asleep in an assassin's crouch as he was now, but instead of his sword, Kenji lay asleep, cradled in his arms. One leg tucked between the thigh and ankle of the drawn up other, one elbow crossing his knee as it curled around the sleeping child tucked into the fold his yukata, the other hand cupping the boys head, knuckles pressed to his own temple as his head bowed protectively over his tiny son.

Smiling gently, Kaoru moved closer, dropping to her knees when she came alongside the pair. She softly touched the bright and messy tufts of deep bronzed orange upon her son's head, hair that promised to grow just as wild as that of his fathers if only a little darker. The boy squirmed, whimpered once and burrowed deeper into his father's warmth, settling in his sleep within moments.

Smiling, Kaoru's attention turned to her sleeping husband next. His breathing was steady and deep, seemingly his sleep this time was a pleasant one and his dreams remained undisturbed by his nightmares if the soft 'oro' that slipped from his lips was of any indication.

She cupped his scarred cheek, tracing the horizontal line softly with her thumb pad. "You were more tired than even you realized." She murmured. Reaching to the edges of the blanket wrapped about her shoulders and tugging, removing the warm fabric from her body and tucking it around her sleeping wanderer. "You forget that you are not as young as you think you are. After so many battles your body is tiring-"

"You say this as though I have one foot in my grave already, that you do."

Kaoru blinked up into a single lavender eye, cracked open from beneath thick dark lashes. "Oh, did I wake you?" Her hands stilled from their tasks.

Kenshin shook his head and arched his back away from the soft pile behind him in a luxuriating stretch, mindful to not disturb the warm blankets covering the still sleeping boy against his chest before pressing his cheek deeper into the palm that still cupped it, nuzzling his wife's slender fingers as he did so. "It appears that I am a wanderer even while at rest, that it does. I've been moving between waking and sleeping for over an hour now, waiting for Kenji to realize that he has lain in my arms all night and not yours."

Kaoru smiled gently, tucking her knees beneath her and lowering herself to sit beside her husband, all the while stroking the back of her finger along the tiny fist wrapped in Kenshin's yukata. "He seems really comfortable with you."

"Yes. But while he's peaceful now, he will soon make it known that he'll want you and not me, that he will." Kenshin lifted a corner of the blanket so that Kaoru could tuck herself between her husband and the wall, scooting closer to share the warmth. "He has been moving a lot in the last little while."

"Hungry?"

"I think so." Kenshin's brow arched as he settled against his wife, enjoying the closeness of his wife and the warm patch of sunlight that had thoughtfully fallen on them before a scent had him wrinkling his nose and chuckling softly. "And I think both of us need to take a bath, I fear that Kenji has wet through, that he has."

Kaoru hid her laugh behind a slender hand before tucking her head under his chin. "And today will be bright and dry, a perfect day for doing laundry."

Kenshin turned his wide, quizzical gaze to the strands of ebony silk tickling his skin. "Oro?"

* * *

**End Note:**

**Quite possibly my longest chapter ever written to date.**


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